


Comfort (A Sterek One-Shot)

by Svengali_Khan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, teen wolf alternate universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 06:39:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18424956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Svengali_Khan/pseuds/Svengali_Khan
Summary: A simple scene  with a complex idea behind it. Sometimes, less is more.





	Comfort (A Sterek One-Shot)

_This is private property_.

"Sorry man, we didn't know," Stiles said, ascending the stairs. "Dude, that was Derek Hale. You remember, right? He's only, like, a few years older than us."

Coming out onto the landing, he wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. Over the door, a flickering bulb spilled out an anemic, broken circle of light onto the aged hardwood.

 _It's you, it's all you. You know, every day, I saw her lying in that hospital, slowly dying. I thought, how the hell am I supposed to raise this stupid kid on my own? This hyper-active little bastard who keeps ruining my life! It's all you. It's you, Stiles! You killed your mother. You hear me? You killed her. And now, you're killing me_.

"It wasn't real, but it was."

Along its tracks, the heavy warehouse door slid open. A gruff voice called out into the hallway.

"What are you doing here?"

Folding his shoulders in toward his chest, Stiles became conscious of every hair on his head. His own breathing sounded like gusts of wind. His heart slammed hard against his chest. Both feet became lead. _This is private property_. Sand filled his mouth.

"I asked you a question. I'm going to need an answer in the next—"

"I need someone to talk to."

"So, you came here?"

"I can't go home. I need to be around people."

"So, you came here?"

"I know you're not _people_ but you're the closet thing, right now."

"I don't have any food."

"I'm not hungry."

"I have nothing to drink."

Stiles felt the numbness in his fingers spreading up to his mouth. Words became difficult. Tears formed and rolled down both cheeks. In the closed, cramped space of the hallway, he felt the air grow thick. One strange thought slammed against the sides of his head as he pictured his first meeting with Derek Hale. Heat rose up in his chest, moving out. It pushed aside the numbness, making his palms sweat again. He wiped his hands along his jeans again.

… _no more talk about the alpha. Or Derek. Especially Derek. Who still scares me_.

"What are you doing here?"

 _I'm the one keeping you alive, have you noticed that_?

In the open doorway, Stiles made out the rough outline of Derek's body, unhindered by clothes. _It was a bad time to come, moron_. Behind him, in the loft, he made out the low-hanging globes casting warm light on the brick and wooden walls. Rain pelted against the bank of glass.

Hooking a thumb over one shoulder, he croaked out, "I should go."

"Not until you tell me what you're doing here."

"I told you…"

"I can smell a liar."

"You're going to make me say it, aren't you?"

Silence knocked around the hallway, echoing in Stiles' head. Wanting to run, to stay, to disappear, he attempted to will his feet to move but he stayed rooted to the floor. Sweat ran down the back of his neck, soaking into his t-shirt.

"You're old enough to drink. You should be old enough to own up to your feelings."

"I _do_ own up to my feelings! Owning up to my feelings is why I'm here!" Stiles felt more tears replacing the ones he shed. "See? This is me! These are my feelings! Tears, Derek! Real tears!"

"Go home. You're drunk."

"You're damned right, I'm drunk! You would be drunk, too – if you had a soul!"

Derek disappeared from the doorway. Stiles saw into the large, open area of the loft. Walking to the bank of windows, Derek's broad, naked body held no secrets. Each of the powerful muscles played against one another as he took the stairs.

 _Especially Derek. Who still scares me_.

"Go home, Stiles, you're drunk." He nodded. "I _am_ drunk…and stupid for coming here."

Beyond the doorway, some twenty-two feet away, he smelled the rich, earthy aroma he associated with Derek. Incense from Tibet, a spicy scent, mingled with it and wafted out into the hallway. Five full minutes passed. Derek didn't come back downstairs. Eight minutes. Nine.

"Stand out here…piss on yourself…because you're too stubborn to go in." Stiles nodded again, more tears coming. "Why did you come here, again?"

Caramel. Spicy, earthy, caramel. Stiles inhaled the scent and felt the press of his bladder urging him forward. More tears. After crossing the threshold of the loft, he threaded his way to the bathroom.

"I can do it," he told himself, fumbling with his pants. "I don't need any help – thank you!"

His head fell back as he let the stream begin. Closing his eyes, he felt the warm tears continue. Even after he finished, he stayed where he stood. No mirror. No shelf full of products, no cabinet. Just a sink and a toilet. He imagined large, sweaty workmen using this room, back when the warehouse had been a factory. His pants fell around his ankles.

"Go home, Stiles. Back to the big, empty house…which belongs to you, now."

The first attempt to back away from the toilet almost resulted in his falling on his face. In the process of getting out of his pants, he lost a shoe. Sinking to his knees, he half-walked toward the door. Inches away from it, he managed to lose his other shoe and one sock. He fell forward onto the cool tile. His cheek pressed against porcelain as tears continued.

 _You killed your mother. You hear me? Now, you're killing me_.

"You were a good man, Noah."

Closing his eyes, Stiles let the tears come. As they did, he pushed himself onto his side, then onto his back. The putrid scent of his own rum-soaked breath invaded his nostrils, making his stomach churn. It took some effort to get back onto his other side. He drew his bare legs up until his knees touched his chest. The subtle shaking in his limbs subsided but not all at once. After a few more minutes of lying on the floor, he took his other sock off.

 _Now, you're killing me_.

"I didn't, you know." Stiles pushed himself up into a sitting position. "I didn't kill anymore. Anyone. I didn't kill anyone."

Standing required more effort and the use of the doorframe. Holding to the doorknob, he brought himself to his feet. The cool tile felt good on his soles. _Dude, that's Derek Hale! You remember, right? He's only, like, a few years older than us_. Stiles felt the corners of his mouth go up.

"A few years older than us…and still a dick."

Stumbling out of the bathroom, Stiles found the warm sugar-smell of the living room soothing. The couch would offer little comfort but the faux fur rug in front of it would mean he wouldn't feel the hard press of the wood floor against his skin. _After I close the door. It's only polite_. This took a concentrated effort on his part, as he had little of the strength Derek possessed and even less dexterity. He congratulated himself on the task, and on managing to slide the lock into place, as well.

_This hyperactive little bastard who keeps ruining my life!_

"I did that! Yes, I did!" Pulling on the collar of his shirt, Stiles felt the dampness for the first time. "Oh, boy…I walked here in the rain, didn't I?"

He managed to get the shirt over his head and off his body. It fell next to the couch.

"Walking in the rain and ruining lives! That's me!" He proclaimed this by raising both hands and shaking them toward the ceiling. "Fuck-up. Fucked with. No…not that last part."

Outside, rain streaked the glass. In the distance, lighting spread out in a dazzling display against the blackness. Seconds later, a rumbling of thunder jarred the loose panes. Turning toward the stairs, Stiles shook his head, sending thick curls into his face. One hand took hold of the railing while he raised his first foot toward the bottom step.

"I'm not to be…fucked with."

Each step took a full minute to navigate. _Especially Derek, who still scares me_.

 Opening out into another expansive space, the stairs terminated after the seventeenth one. Stiles got his bearings in the new space and took the first of three steps forward. The warm, sugar-caramel scent increased. Incense. Spicy-sweetness. As before, in the hallway, he could not make his feet work. On the warm hardwood, they rebelled. More tears. More deep breaths, inhaling the scent.

"You scare me."

Warmer fingers slid up the sides of Stiles' face. "I know I do."

"A lot. I mean…like…a lot."

Soft lips touched his. "I know."

"My dad hates you."

"I know he does."

"Like…a lot."

Soft, warm lips touched the hard curve of his cheek, along the jaw-line. "I know."

"I'm drunk, Derek."

"I know, Stiles."

"I'm also _very_ naked."

"I noticed."

"If you take advantage of me now, I could press charges."

Another gentle kiss to the edge of his jaw. "I know."

The spicy-sweet caramel scent enveloped Stiles. Hard, soft muscle pressed against him, the heat permeating the cold of his own body. He felt his hands touch familiar flesh, slide up and around. More tears fell and he felt the shaking begin again. Trembling, he gave in to the warmth and the sweet smells. He let himself be held, let the hands slide to the back of his head and the small of his back. Rain pinged against glass. Darkness eased in around the two of them but it left his insides, and that felt right. Stiles let the grief overtake him.

"What are you doing here, Stiles?"

"My dad is dead, Derek."

"I know."

"You didn't kill him. "Stiles held tight to the man who held him. "It wasn't your fault. The guy with the gun killed him. Some nut with a gun killed my dad."

"What do you need?"

"I need us to be okay again. I need…comfort."

***

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you'll forgive the obvious missing tag. To have included it would have ruined the story.
> 
> Credit should be given to:
> 
> * Jeff Davis  
> * Eoghan O'Donnell  
> * Monica Macer  
> * Jeff Vlaming  
> * Other writers from the show.
> 
> ...for the bits of dialogue from the series, most of which is in _Italics_.


End file.
